


Help!

by Rioviolina



Category: The Beatles
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-16
Packaged: 2018-11-12 11:03:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11160543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rioviolina/pseuds/Rioviolina
Summary: Set in 1965 America end of tour, a kidnapping, could be nasty, don't read if you think it will upset you.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been in my head all night, so I have to write it. Sorry Paul, don't really have it in for you. Could be a bit gritty. Also I'm English and I've had the audacity to set it in America, so please excuse different words. I don't know about the law system, or forensics, so this is made up...All made up, fiction, didn't happen.

Two more days to go, then they were going home. Despite being shattered from all the travelling and concerts, the Beatles were in high spirits as their car swept up to the back door of the hotel that was to be their home for the next couple of nights. One more performance, then home. They shared tired grins with one another as they leapt from the limo and dashed in to the janitor's entrance of the hotel. They heard the screaming of fans and the pounding of feet as the waiting fans realised they'd been duped and attempted to catch them round the back, but they were too late.

Their party huddled together in the bowels of the hotel, the smell of disinfectant strong in the air, surrounded by the paraphernalia of buckets, brooms, mops, vacuum cleaners and other sundry stuff that enables a hotel to be kept clean and functioning. Brian, after a hurried discussion with a member of staff, opened a steel door and waved them through.  
"Okay, boys, we're going to use the staff staircase. We're not risking the lifts. The manager says fans have got into the lobby, so we will have to leg it."  
There were groans from the boys, but Mal herded them together and shoved, gently, in the direction of the stairs.  
"Night off" he whispered conspiratorially" I bet the rooms have well-filled bars"  
"Better be right, Mal" John quipped back as they began the long journey.

It was a long, long haul up many flights of stairs. Occasionally they would catch sight of a maid coming down with bundles of bedlinen, or porters scurrying through almost invisible doors, part of the hidden workforce. They rounded the flight of stairs onto a landing and almost bumped into a cleaner who was languidly mopping a small area. He was a sinewy fellow with a head of oiled black hair, and a droopy moustache. He paused, and surveyed them from inscrutable dark eyes. "Sorry, mate" John quipped. Paul, being polite, gave a friendly smile, but the man's eyes slowly ran over Paul, from the top of his head to his feet, devoid of any warmth. Paul gave an involuntary shiver, and his smile fell.  
"What's the hold up?" Ringo panted, catching up to Paul. Paul shrugged. "Oh..nothing". He could feel the guy's eyes still on him. As they all rounded the turn of the stairs, Paul glanced back. The cleaner was still standing there, mop in hand, unmoving, his eyes still on Paul. Unnerved, Paul hastened on, keeping close to John.

Breathless when they reached the top, they collapsed on the sofas in the shared lounge. John picked up a newspaper to waft himself with.  
"Ooh me legs..they're fit to drop off"George complained, lying half back and sticking his legs out.  
"What you complaining about, son, Ringo here was the tallest when we started up them stairs, now look at him!" John joked.  
"Hey!" Ringo mildly objected.  
Paul, who had sat down, was on his feet again. John had been leaning on him, and lost his human cushion as Paul leapt up.  
"Bloody hell, Paul, where d'you get all your energy" John moaned as he slipped further down on the sofa.  
Paul wasn't listening. He was investigating the bedrooms..four of them...Two each for the boys, one for Mal and Neil, and one for Brian with their press officer who was travelling with them.  
Next Paul turned his attention to the mini bar, checking the contents. "Hmm...some whisky..Ooh, this looks good..martinis, gin, vodka...Hmm..wouldn't mind a beer though after that climb"  
As Paul closed the cabinet door, Brian entered the lounge, Mal and Neil struggling behind him with suitcases and bags.  
"Okay, lads, it's 8.00 o'clock now. The hotel are going to rustle up some food for you, then the night is your own"  
There were bright grins all around, and a little hand clap from Ringo.  
"All I ask is you don't..repeat don't...go out of this room, or your bedrooms."  
"What about girls?" George muttered.  
"No girls either..it's chaotic enough as it is!" Brian admonished. "You'll have to make do with each other"  
John gave an evil wiggle of his eyes, and leapt up, grabbing a surprised Paul round the waist.  
"In that case, Bri, I'll take this one..he's the prettiest"  
Paul coloured, and began beating John off him.  
"Gerroff, you wanker. Leave me alone"  
"Sorry, princess, didn't realise it was that time of month"  
Paul just huffed at him, while Brian blushed.  
"John I need you to be serious"  
"Oh, I am being serious" John went down on his knees in front of Paul. "Please say you'll have me"  
He wrapped his arms round Paul's legs, so the bassist was unable to move. In trying to escape John's clutches, Paul lost his balance, and he landed on top of John on the floor. Ringo and George were in hysterics.  
"Ooh" exclaimed John from underneath Paul" I didn't realise you were that eager"  
Brian shook his head in despair, and looked at Mal and Neil  
"Just..."he waved his arm generally around the room"..look after them, will you? I'm going for a rest"  
As Brian exited the room, he heard raucous laughter. His mouth twitched..it was impossible not to smile.

*******************

Brian entered the lounge to see breakfast laid out, and George tucking in merrily. Ringo entered the room from one of the bedrooms, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. His blue eyes smiled at Brian.  
"Morning Bri..all well?"  
Brian felt somewhat stressed. Trying to get four lively young men in one piece round the states was hard work. He couldn't wait to get home and relax.  
"Yes..er, yes thank you Richard. Erm..press conference in a couple of hours..Hmm..sound check after lunch. Car's picking us up in just over an hour.." He looked round bemusedly " Er.. Paul, and John.They not up yet?"  
As he spoke there came a burst of laughter from behind a closed door. Ringo's smile widened.  
"Sounds like they are"  
Brian shuffled uncomfortably.  
"Erm...be a good chap and hurry them up, would you?"  
Ringo gave a knowing wink. He was aware how difficult Brian found dealing with John, particularly in personal situations.  
Giving a peremptory knock, Ringo swung the door open, then stopped in surprise, and burst out laughing.  
John, already dressed, was dancing round the room holding aloft one of Paul's black socks. Paul, wearing nothing but his black suit trousers, was attempting to retrieve aforementioned sock, but John tantalizingly kept whisking it out of his reach. They both turned at the sound of the door opening, and while John was distracted Paul took the opportunity to grab his sock.  
"Alright, children, playtime over, breakfast is served"  
Still giggling, John and Paul entered the lounge, Paul hopping as he attempted to put his sock on.  
"Er, Paulie?" John leaned over him "think you forgot your shirt, love"  
John darted back into the bedroom in an attempt to get Paul's shirt, but Paul was right on his heels and rugby tackled him onto one of the beds. They both rolled off onto the carpet, a tangle of legs and arms.  
"Gimme me shirt, Lennon" Paul threatened, pummelling John. John was laughing so much he could hardly breathe. George looked up from his breakfast at the commotion, and despairingly shook his head.  
"The great Lennon and McCartney" he muttered into his toast.

Half hour later, breakfast complete, the lads were sitting having a quiet smoke. They were on their own, the telly turned down low, lost in their own thoughts. A tap at the door made them all jump. Ringo got up and answered. A beautiful young girl stood there, long black hair piled on top of her head. She wore no uniform, so couldn't have been a maid. She gave Ringo a warm smile.  
"Hello. Paul is wanted downstairs, please, straight away"  
Paul got quickly to his feet.  
"Did Brian send for me?"  
He saw a flicker cross the girl's face, to be swiftly replaced by a reassuring nod.  
"Yes..Yes. to come quickly"  
Paul went to go to his room "I'll just grab my jacket..."  
"No, no, no need...Brian said come as you are"  
Paul flashed a smile at the others  
"Okay, back in a bit"  
The other lads gave half waves, attention elsewhere. If Brian wanted Paul, it was probably for a photo. Or something. It bought them a bit more time. Paul was always the P.R. guy. They slouched back into the sofa and thought nothing of it.

Paul fell into step beside the young woman. The hotel corridor was empty. She looked up at Paul and gave a big smile as she pushed open one of the doors that led to the staff only staircase they'd climbed up the night before.  
"This way" she said brightly.  
Paul returned her smile, and trustingly followed.  
As the door swung closed behind him, strong arms encircled his body, and a cloth smelling of camphor smothered his face. He tried to struggle, but couldn't breathe. There was a ringing in his ears, then he felt his legs fail him as everything went black.

**************____

Brian entered the room accompanied by Neil and Mal, and the boys looked up from their places on the sofa.  
The fact that Paul wasn't with Brian didn't raise an alarm, and Brian looked positively relaxed. Everything was going well, they were running on schedule, car was waiting to take them to the Press Conference, and here they were, ready to go. Brian beamed at them, and gave his hands a gleeful rub.  
"Okay, boys, get your jackets, let's go. Nearly home and dry"  
They dutifully stubbed out their cigarettes and retrieved their black jackets. At that moment, Brian was so proud of them. They looked really smart. And...  
Brian looked round  
"Where's Paul?"  
John looked at Brian "Isn't he with you?"  
Brian frowned. "Me? Why should he be with me?"  
"Cos..you sent for him?"  
The atmosphere changed...alarm bells rang..suddenly they were all talking at once.  
Despite a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Brian tried to stay positive.  
"There must have been some miscommunication..Paul will be somewhere..Neil, go and check..."  
Panic began to take over. No one in the hotel had been to fetch Paul. No one knew anything about a black haired girl. No one had been to the Beatles suite. Brian had to ring and cancel the Press Conference. The police were called for. They came into the room, asking questions no one could answer. For all of them, time stood still and yet it raced. We should be having lunch. We should be doing a soundcheck. We should be...we should be....  
They were surrounded by so many people, and yet the world shrank to the three of them. They looked at one another with worried eyes.  
After about three hours had gone by with no word, and they were reduced to chain smoking in a silent group of three, their lounge was invaded by a bustle of people, and they found themselves being introduced to a Detective Roper. He looked, to them, the proverbial American cop, complete with raincoat, hat and unlit cigarette clamped between his lips. He observed them with piercing eyes, and for some inexplicable reason their hopes raised. He didn't treat them like celebrities. He didn't treat them as being of no consequence. He spoke to them quietly, just the three of them.  
He saw their fear, their deepest fears, and he addressed them.  
"Don't worry, we'll get him back."  
"What d'you thinks happened"  
"It'll be a kidnapping..someone hoping to get rich on you guys."  
"But..why Paul? Why him?"  
The detective smiled at them. "I can't answer that..but maybe you've all got your own idea?"  
"If anything happens to him..." words failed John. The detective gave his arm a quick squeeze.  
They tried to answer questions. What was Paul wearing? What did the girl look like? Her accent? Brian sat in the midst of it all, his face white. He felt so responsible for these boys. And Paul? Why Paul? Paul, who was always so charming, so trusting? God, why did he have to be so trusting?  
There was a knock on the door, and another couple of cops entered, carrying something in a brown paper bag. Detective Roper spoke to them, and John, George and Ringo saw him glance across at them.  
Time stopped. They held a collective breath as they watched him walk through the crowd of people. They felt all eyes follow his progress.  
He stopped in front of them, and withdrew a white garment from the bag. He held it out to them, his eyes concerned.  
"Do you recognise this?"  
Paul's shirt. They could still smell the cologne on it that he'd worn that morning.  
Inside, John's heart twisted. He took the shirt, held it to his face, and inhaled. His eyes, when they met the detective's, were full of anguish.  
From between closed lips he whispered "It's Paul's"


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search for Paul...tensions and fears...the hunt begins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because this story I'd pretty complete in my head, I will update promptly. Most likely three chapters.

The first thing Paul became aware of was a pounding in his head. He went to raise his hand to his forehead, and realised something was stopping him, something metal round his wrists?? He groaned, and screwed his eyes against the light, which truth be told was not that bright, but it seemed so to him. At that point in time, if Paul had any coherent thought at all, it was that he had a really bad hangover and had fallen asleep and was wedged somewhere. Slowly, slowly, he became aware of other sensations. He was lying on a concrete floor, and bits of grit were digging into his upper body, making him uncomfortable. Slowly, slowly, he began to recall his last memory. Slowly, slowly, he opened his eyes. Everything came rushing back like a flood. He went to move and realised his arms were fastened behind him, and not just behind him but round a metal pole that resembled a drainpipe. He had a really bad feeling deep in the pit of his stomach. Quietly, hardly daring to breathe, he tried to shuffle to a sitting position using his legs to push himself up. Where on earth had his shirt gone? The movement caught someone's eye. He heard a voice. He looked up, and was confronted by his surroundings. It was a large space, dust motes floating in the air in what was left of the fading light that fell through window panes that were high on the wall, most of them broken. Paul could only assume that he was in a disused warehouse. In front of him, just a few feet away, was a kind of wooden shed, like a station for overseers to sit in. It was from this "station" that the voices sounded, and as Paul shuffled his body to a sitting position, someone emerged. Paul looked up with trepidation at what he could only assume was one of his captors.  
He was a spindly fellow, long greasy black hair hanging around a sallow face, and a pair of insolent dark eyes that reminded Paul of someone..ah..He drew a breath. The cleaner at the hotel. The clothes the guy wore were dirty, stained denim, but of far more concern to Paul was the gun slung casually over a shoulder.  
A jolt went through Paul. Shit, was he in trouble.  
He realised the guy had spoken to him, but he had no recollection of the voice or words. He felt so sluggish, as if he'd been drugged.  
Another voice spoke, and the guy in front of Paul turned to look at the speaker. Another pair of shoes, scuffed leather boots, arrived in front of Paul. He shook his head dazedly. He wished to God he could think clearly.  
One of his captors squatted down and surveyed him closely. Paul tried to meet the man's gaze without flinching. The man spoke...Paul couldn't quite tell what he said, the voice had a strong accent. Suddenly, there were another couple of guys there. Paul blinked stupidly. Where had they come from? Then hands were round his arms, and he was pulled to his feet. For a moment everything swam, and a taste of bile rose to his throat. He swallowed audibly, and heard someone mutter "Water".  
Next moment a dirty mug was held against his lips. He flinched from it, but it was forced into his mouth none too gently, and he choked as it caught the back of his throat. One of the guys gave a short bark of laughter, but one of the newcomers admonished him swiftly. Paul looked up, eyes narrowing. This one chap looked slightly smarter, a disturbing cleverness in his eyes, an air of detachment. These eyes he now turned on Paul. Paul raised his chin defiantly.  
"Ah,, so..you are wondering what is going on, yes?" The voice was clipped, accented. "All you have to do is be a good boy and wait. We want no trouble. No trouble, and you will not be hurt."  
"What d'you want?" Paul's voice was dry, croaky.  
The boss, as Paul had called him in his mind, continued to smile, but the smile was sinister, lacking warmth.  
"From you, pretty one, nothing. But from your friends..well..we will have to bargain. What are you worth, hmm?"  
The boss's hands snaked round the back of Paul, testing the handcuffs. He nodded to one of the men that had first emerged from the hut...."Leo, you watch him tonight. Take first shift. Mig, you relieve him later. We" he gestured to the other man who had not yet spoken"have a phone call to make."

**************

"There's been a phone call"  
"When.."  
"Any trace...."  
"Couldn't get a trace on it. It was too brief"  
The lads looked up at the whispered conversation.  
Detective Roper ("call me Sam" he'd told them) glanced over at their worried faces.  
"Its early days" he assured them " they're just testing the waters"  
"What did they want"  
"Just letting us know they've got him. The bargaining will start later"  
"Is he okay?" John had to ask. Sam smiled "Look...they'll want money. He's worth more alive than dead, and therein lies our hope"  
John cursed. "I hate sitting here. I feel I should do something."  
George hushed him. "There's nothing you can do, John. We don't wanna lose you too"  
The hours seemed interminable. No one could sleep. No one could do anything. The phone rang again. Sam waved at one of the other cops, who immediately picked up an adjoining phone in the hope of finding where the calls were coming from.  
"What's he worth?" The other lads could hear the voice. John shivered. Bastard.  
"How does " the others couldn't hear the amount mentioned, but they saw Roper's eyes widen"sound? Have a think"  
The phone was replaced, and Sam was left hearing a dialling tone.  
"Someone with high hopes there" Sam commented wryly.  
"We could pay...." John leapt to his feet. Sam just shook his head.  
"Doesn't work like that, John. Paul is safer while we don't pay. Once they have the money, he's not worth anything. That's the dangerous time"

******************

Two teams were involved in the hunt for Paul. One was based in an adjacent room to the Beatles suite, so, they were informed, they could keep them up to date on the progress of the case, but in reality was so that they could keep an eye on the three remaining Beatles. The other was at the local police headquarters. That dealt with the things they didn't want the other Beatles to know about. This team were involved in the logistics of tracing Paul's whereabouts, evaluating the risk to his life, how long they dare wait for the kidnappers to make a false move. This team also had a forensics section, analysing anything that came from the kidnappers, particularly items of Paul's clothing that may give them an idea of where he was being held and, more gruesomely, his condition. But they weren't telling John, George and Ringo that.  
The next item of clothing to arrive, delivered to the back doors of the hotel, were Paul's boots. No one saw anyone arrive or leave. They were deposited on top of the days' bread delivery. The hard thing for the police that day was that it was such a personal piece of clothing in that it had a P marked inside each boot, to differentiate it from the other Beatle boots when they were getting ready in a hurry. Sam Roper mentioned their arrival casually to the other three, trying to play it down, but he saw panic rise in John's eyes.  
"If they do anything..."  
"John, ssh, they're not interested in Paul. Only money" he reassured.

*****************

There was no light, no electricity, in the deserted warehouse. As night fell the only glimmer came from moonlight occasionally shining through.  
Paul slid down the metal pole, leaning against it. It was uncomfortable, cold against his back. He leaned forward, relying on his arms to keep him upright. Sleep was impossible. He stretched out his legs, wiggling his toes. From the corner of his eye he could see the guard he had heard called Leo, standing, gun slung over shoulder, quietly smoking. He took the chance to get a good look at his surroundings. Metal poles, like the one he'd been handcuffed to, ran at regular intervals around the cavernous warehouse. Near to where he sat on the stone floor was a channel that ran around the room also, an equal distance from the metal poles. Strung from the metal poles high in the rafters were rusted hooks and what looked like containers. There was a lingering smell in the air that Paul couldn't place.  
His mouth was dry, tasted like sandpaper. Apart from the water from a dirty cup, he'd been offered no sustenance. Not that his body wanted anything. Most of the time he'd been in a daze, unable to comprehend what was happening to him. Now, in the quiet dark, he had time to think. He realised he was in deep trouble. He was fairly certain there would be a hunt out for him, but his stomach twisted at the thought it might not be a successful one. The cold of the ground began to numb through him, and using his legs, and by pushing his arms backwards so the handcuffs didn't rub against the pole, he managed to get himself onto his feet fairly quietly.  
Leo's head swivelled round at the movement. He ground his cigarette out under his heels and approached Paul. The moonlight glinted off the metal of the gun, making it an object of beauty rather than terror.  
Leo stood in front of Paul, and ran his eyes up and down the bound figure. Paul shifted nervously from one foot to another. Leo licked his lips, a sly smile on his face.  
He took his thumb and ran it down Paul's face, pausing on his mouth. Paul's eyes widened, and a bead of sweat appeared on his upper lip. Leo's smile grew.  
"Well...you're a pretty little thing, aren't you. I bet you could show someone a good time."  
Leo's thumb rubbed across Paul's lips, then trailed over his chin and down onto his chest. Leo's eyes glinted in the moonlight, and he ran his tongue teasingly across his smiling teeth. He was like a cat playing with a bird.  
Paul's eyes were locked on his. He couldn't look away. The thumb circled his nipples, and a low chuckle came from Leo's throat. He slid his hand lower, following the taut line of Paul's stomach, till he reached the waistband of Paul's trousers. He paused, his face inches from Paul's, and gave another chuckle as he slipped his fingers under the waistband.  
Paul's was a knee jerk reaction. He brought his leg up sharply, swift and sudden, and caught Leo between his legs. Leo bent double, all air escaping, clutching his man package, crying and swearing.  
Finally, as he slowly recovered, he drew breath. He glared at Paul, then with all his force hit him across the face, left, right, then drew back his fist and threw a forceful punch into Paul's gut. Paul gasped in pain, and slid to the floor. Leo kicked him in the ribs, and there was no way that Paul could escape the beating.  
"What the hell is going on?!!"  
There was the sound of footsteps running across the concrete floor. Through the pain, Paul heard a string of words, different voices, swearing, shouting. Then someone grabbed Paul by his hair and yanked his head up. The boss looked into his face, searching, scanning, quickly analysing injuries.  
He let go, and Paul's head fell back on his chest as he gasped for breath. The boss spoke in English. For whose benefit, Paul didn't know. Was it his?  
"I leave you for a couple of hours, and this is what you do. He is not to be injured. Understand? Anything needs doing, I do it." He gave an exasperated exclamation in a different language. He waved dismissively at Paul.  
"Remove his socks" he spat, as he walked away. Through a haze of pain, Paul was aware of his black socks being tugged off his feet. He could feel blood trickling from somewhere down his face. His eye? His nose? He drew a deep breath and tried to block everything out.

*****************

The socks arrived at the hotel the next day in a brown paper package. They were discovered with the milk delivery this time. Again, no one had seen anything. To Detective Sam Roper's dismay, they were brought straight to him where he sat in the room with the remaining three Beatles. He'd hoped the young copper would have had the sense to take anything arriving into the incident room that had been set up next door. He wanted to examine anything that arrived before mentioning it to the other three, just in case...just in case of what, he wasn't prepared to go into.  
But here he was, opening the small package with three pairs of eyes on him. Three worried pairs of eyes. He knew what they were thinking. No one said it, but it was the elephant in the room. Only two items of clothing left to go.  
John looked at him pleadingly.  
"Can't we just pay..for godsake, give 'em the money"  
"They haven't set up a collection point yet, John. That'll come...sooner rather than later, now."  
John sighed, and looked at his bitten down finger nails.

Two hours later, the phone rang. Officers scrabbled to various phones to try and pinpoint the calling area. Sam answered. The voice was brief.  
"I assume you've received the next package? Good, good. Speak to you soon" The phone was swiftly replaced.  
One officer looked up. "I reckon it's at the edge of town, east side. That's the best trace I could get"  
John looked up hopefully. Sam gave him a wry smile.  
"Dont be too hopeful. If they're well organised, they'll ring from a different point every time. But...we'll check the area out. See if there's any empty buildings or areas that someone could easily be concealed in."  
"D'you think Paul's okay?"  
John had to ask. He was burning up inside at the thought of his best mate being hurt in any way. There was a very slight hesitation before Sam answered. John noticed it, and his heart skipped a beat.  
"I'm sure he's fine, John. I'm sure he's fine"

**************

At the same time Paul's socks were being delivered. Paul himself was waking up after an uncomfortable night on the stone floor. He couldn't see out of one eye, and his body was bruised from the kicking he'd got from Leo. He struggled to sit up, every bone in his body complaining. From the hut a few feet away, the boss appeared, followed by the hulking guy who never said a word. The boss squatted down, and pulled Paul's head up by his hair. His black eyes scrutinised Paul's face, taking in the injuries. He spoke rapidly to his minion in what sounded, to Paul, like Spanish. Next moment, a glass containing Amber liquid was held to Paul's lips.  
"Drink" the boss urged. Paul kept his lips closed. It could be something..poison?  
The boss gave a weird smile, as if he'd read Paul's mind.  
"It will help. I'm not trying to kill you. I want you alive"  
Paul had not had anything inside him for over forty eight hours, not that he'd noticed hunger, but thirst...yes.  
He opened his lips and the liquid was tipped in quickly. He tried to swallow, and it caught at the back of his throat as it went down, burning a channel. Whisky. The taste made him think of John. John. God, how had he not thought of the other three. They must be going out of their minds. And John..he would blame himself for anything that happened to Paul. What would he do if he was here? He'd probably try and give as good as he got, even if he was tied up. The thought of John brought sudden hope to Paul. He looked at his captors with narrowed eyes.  
"Fuck you!!" he spat.


	3. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting very near the end....clues link to Paul's whereabouts...a dramatic rescue...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was going to be the last chapter, but I thought I should finish it on a happier note. This chapter contains sexual abuse/rape..PLEASE do not read if it upsets you.

John was slowly going stir crazy. The waiting was getting to him. Although not told officially, they had picked up the word that a place had been suggested for a money drop today. The third day of Paul's abduction. The socks had arrived, been sent to forensics, analysed, nothing gained. Then that evening the phone had rung again. A different voice, deep and heavily accented, simply said a place and time.   
John, George and Ringo, although not informed, were aware. The fact they were only getting half a story just made John even more angry. Detective Roper was not as available to them as he had been, which John also didn't like. Truth told, Sam Roper had his hands full. He knew it was getting near to a showdown time, and he didn't want to blow it. He couldn't cope with three extremely tense Beatles as well.

The area suggested for the drop off had been surrounded by armed cops, but the kidnappers would be expecting that. They were playing the same game. The bag containing money just contained weights...they'd probably be expecting that too. Equally, Sam wasn't expecting the kidnappers to calmly pull up and hand over Paul. In his experience, and he had a few years behind him, these situations could end up with at least one person on each side maimed or dead. He was desperately trying to avoid that in this case. The idea of sending an item of Paul's clothing each day just added to the vulnerability of the young man's situation and served as a reminder that he was at their mercy. Sam had no idea if he was dealing with experienced kidnappers or someone just chancing their luck, but as the hours rolled by he began to assume these guys were practiced at their art.

No one turned up at the drop off. Sam halted at the pre-arranged place...the entrance to a refuse tip on the edge of the city. He glanced around. Everything was quiet. He knew that, hidden, there were lots of police with guns trained in his direction. It was a quiet area, a few grimy old flats, nothing to write home about. Not the kind of place anyone would choose to live. He swung the money bag, bumping the side of his leg, and drew deeply on his cigarette. Was someone else watching? He peered through the closed gates of the local tip. This was a strange place to choose, but they probably had their reasons. He swung the bag again, then something caught his eye...a bit of paper fluttered in the late evening breeze. It was near a corner of the gates, wedged under a stone. Throwing his cigarette away, Sam squatted down to retrieve it.  
Scrawled across in red child's crayon were the words "Ha ha". Of much more interest to Sam was the lock of unevenly cut dark hair sellotaped to the paper. Swearing under his breath, he waved his hands in the air, signalling to the hidden cops that they could all relax. He imagined the guns being laid down, the rolling of tense muscles, the deep breaths released. He began to walk back to his waiting car.  
Without warning, a motorbike burst forth from a back alley, two figures on it, one firing as they went. A bullet ricocheted off Sam's car, and he automatically dropped to the ground and rolled as one sailed over his head.  
"Fuck..fuck, fuck " he exclaimed. He stood up slowly, replaced his hat, clamped another cigarette between his lips, and stared down the road in the direction the bike had gone. His eyes were narrowed.

"So..you wanna play a game? Right..let's play"

******************

Paul, slumped on the floor, his head on his chest, heard the bike return. He looked out from his one good eye as the boss and his minion entered the warehouse. It had been a long, long day. Paul had tried to turn his mind inward, but the discomfort he was in kept dragging him back to reality. The last of the daylight was rapidly disappearing. He licked his dry lips, desperate for a drink of water. Had he actually said it out loud? Mig was kneeling in front of him, fresh water held in the grimy cup that seemed to be used for everything. He drank it all gratefully.   
A whispered conversation was going on...a heated discussion between Leo and the boss, and the silent minion stood to one side, listening. Paul saw a hand gestured in his direction. He could feel the atmosphere becoming tense.

"A couple of hours..a couple of hours.." They had lapsed into English. They seemed to do this when they felt Paul needed to be made aware of situations.  
"By midnight..one at the latest. Going to check something out" It was the boss's voice, answered by Leo in a different language.   
Suddenly the boss was in front of Paul.  
Paul locked eyes with him defiantly. In a way, Paul didn't feel he had much to lose.  
"You..." the boss waved his hand at Paul's face exasperatedly "...behave..."  
Ironically, Paul had to almost hide a smile. His chances of misbehaving were very slim, handcuffed as he was.  
Paul's eyes followed the boss and his minion as they exited the warehouse. It was now completely black, and the moon had not yet risen.

*****************

He must have dozed, despite everything. Hands were under his arms, pulling him to his feet. He stumbled, but the handcuffs prevented him from falling. When he opened his eyes, it was to see Leo's face very close to his own. He tried to back away, but there was nowhere he could go. He could feel Leo's breath warm against his face, and in the blackness the whites of his eyes. There was a leer on his face. Paul froze, unnerved, and heard Mig off to the side say something. Leo replied in the same language, then turned back to Paul, running his hands over the slim body.  
"We have some unfinished business, I think, and a couple of hours to ourselves. That's good " he chuckled as Paul flinched away from his breath, his hands "That's very good"  
Suddenly he twisted Paul's body round, slamming him forwards against the wall. Paul's arms were jerked backwards, almost pulling them from his sockets. He gave a gasp of pain, but his face was pushed into the wall, a hand over his mouth. He felt fingers fumbling at his waistband, at his zip. He kicked and struggled, squirming to stop them getting a hold on him, but the hand tightened over his mouth and nose, leaving him gasping for breath.Next moment his trousers were down his ankles, closely followed by his underpants, and a hand was caressing his buttocks while Leo whispered words in a language Paul didn't know. He kept trying to struggle, but Leo put his knee between Paul's legs, pinning him to the wall. Suddenly a finger entered him. Paul gasped out in pain, but the hand closed tighter over his mouth. The finger explored him, twisting and pushing, then another finger joined it. Paul could feel Leo's breath gusting against the back of his head. His legs were trembling so much he could hardly stand, but the weight of Leo's body kept him upright. Leo kept circling Paul's entrance, dipping in, testing, then back out. Paul moaned, and the fingers searched deeper.Then the fingers were withdrawn, and Paul felt himself entered by an engorged dick. It was far more painful than fingers in Paul's virgin insides.Slowly Leo pushed in, grunting with the effort. Paul was unaware that tears were streaming down his face.The pain was unlike anything he had known before, as Leo began slamming into him, over and over. He could hear Leo panting, swearing, overcome with lust. Finally, with a last surge, Paul felt Leo come inside him. The body holding him grew slack, and Paul drew a shuddering breath. He felt Leo slide out, and felt fluids run down the inside of his thighs. An arm was still round his waist, supporting him. He could hear Leo breathing heavily against him, unaware that his own breathing was equally rapid.Because of the awkward angle Paul had been pushed against the wall, his arms felt as if they were tearing from his shoulders. Then he heard Leo's words...spoken in English..meant to be heard.  
"Okay, Mig....your turn. Enjoy" and a low laugh. Paul's heart sank.  
Mig slipped into place as Leo stepped back, and his fingers explored the torn and bleeding entrance eagerly. Paul steeled himself as Mig pushed into the space Leo had just left. He was incapable of standing on his own feet, and this time two pairs of arms held his body up as Mig took his turn. All the time Leo was chuckling, rubbing Paul's face, watching for reaction. Paul's legs gave way as Mig finally withdrew, and Leo let Paul's body slump to the floor. He felt his pants and trousers pulled back up, the zipper closing, then all went black.

***************

It was sometime in the night. Paul woke because someone was trying to remove his trousers. In fear he kicked and struggled, twisting his legs. He heard a voice curse, a weight thrown over his chest, then he felt his trousers slither from off his legs. In the dark and pain, he thought he was about to be raped again, but he was left alone, slim bare legs stretched out on the stone floor.

****************

The trousers arrived the next morning. Folded neatly in a brown paper package, just as the other items had been. They had been found by the early morning cleaner who prepared everything for all the other cleaners. Sam Roper took the parcel into the investigation room. It was still early. The other Beatles were asleep, and he certainly wasn't going to wake them. He knew what would be inside, of course. He just wasn't prepared for the state they were in. Creased and dusty, stiff with dried blood and something else...Sam exhaled, and rubbed his temples. He'd got a pretty good idea what the "something else" was. Shit. This wasn't looking good.   
He took them down to forensics himself.  
"Ring me" he said to the woman called Marsha, who was heading the team " as soon as you've done a test on them"  
Marsha looked at the trousers, then at him closely.  
"This is bad" she said  
He nodded. "You're telling me"

*******************

All morning, they were walking on eggshells. Sam had mentioned the trousers. He had not mentioned the state they were in. The call from forensics wasn't long in coming. It was Marsha's voice.  
"Sam...steel yourself"  
"I am, Marsha...just give me the worst"  
"Blood...same blood group as the young man has, and the other is seminal fluids...we can detect at least two different kinds"  
"Rape?"  
"I'd say so"  
"Shit. Anything else?"  
"Not yet but we'll keep looking. They're in quite a state..we may find something else".

John looked at Sam as he entered the room. They were all smoking so much it was like walking into a thick fog.  
"What's up?" John asked him.  
Sam looked at John "Well...the trousers have arrived." He brushed over the details. "Quite dusty..forensics have them. Hope to " he shrugged " well...give us a lead"  
"You're not telling us everything are you?"  
"John, I can't. One it would take too long, two you'd worry unnecessarily."  
John exploded. "This is my fucking best mate we're talking about, not some random piece of shit"  
"I know...don't you think I fucking know that" Sam retaliated. John paused....Sam's reaction told him things weren't good. He groaned, and sank his head in his hands.  
"Oh shit, Paul" he muttered.

******************

When Paul finally regained consciousness, all he was aware of was the pain. He tried to curl up away from it, but his backside burned and throbbed. There was no where he could get comfortable. He felt, rather than saw, that he was being watched. He didn't want to open his eyes. The pain, the humiliation, the uncertainty..at this point in time death would be welcome.  
He rolled onto his side, and felt the ground cold. beneath his legs. Shit. They'd taken his trousers too now..He remembered feeling them being removed in the night.  
The pain was too intense to allow any more sleep. He groaned audibly, and next moment arms were pulling him up to a sitting position. He couldn't sit, it hurt too much, but he wasn't able to say. He just felt a mess. Dirty, unshaven, wearing nothing but a pair of underpants, his hair filthy and in his eyes. With another groan, he lurched onto his side. He heard anxious voices, and whisky was poured down his throat. He didn't even have the energy to swallow, and it trickled down the side of his mouth. He closed his eyes, desperately trying to block everything out.

**********************

They had no call from the kidnappers that day. Sam paced and chainsmoked ceaselessly. No word could mean things had gone terribly wrong.   
It was eleven thirty at night when the phone finally rang in the investigation room. Sam and the remaining officer had both nodded off, exhausted from the day's unsettling turmoil and uncertainty. A soft voice was on the phone"Hello..is that Detective Roper?"  
Sam clamped another unlit cigarette between his lips.  
"Yeah..who's this?"  
"Oh, hi..er..I'm Josh...on the forensics team. I've not long started..you don't know me. Erm...I asked Marsha if I could stay late and keep working on those trousers, y'know"  
Christ, he could almost feel this lad quaking in his shoes. He wished he'd hurry up and get to the point.  
"Yeah...and?" Sam prompted.  
"Well...I did further investigation, and there's these tiny bits of frayed cotton all over them...you only pick it up under a microscope really....it's what makes them look so dusty. They're very old threads, but they're all identical in that they were all in the first stage of dyeing."  
Sam went to say "so what of it?"...then he had a sudden flash...the old dyeing mill on the edge of the city.  
"Josh..you are amazing. I'll talk to you tomorrow"

****************  
Sam slammed the phone down, and the officer on duty looked up, startled. Sam gave a beaming smile"Got them!! Rally up a crack squad ready to leave H.Q. in thirty minutes. Tell 'em I'm on my way!" He could feel it in his bones..yes..it was so, so obvious. They'd need to be quick. Not give anyone time to realise. Outwardly he was beaming, but inwardly he was well aware of the danger. His one aim was to get the young man out unscathed.....

***************

Noise woke Paul. Noise all around him. For a moment he thought it was the motorbike returning, but it was too loud. Was it a helicopter he could hear? There were lights outside...bright..too bright to be normal. And voices, loud, hailing. He was dazed, confused. He saw the boss and his minion running..running..and as he turned he saw Leo. Despite the noise and confusion, for a moment everything stood still. They locked eyes, warily watching each other. Then, with a smirk, Leo raised his gun. For Paul the whole world shrank to the size of the muzzle of the gun. As he watched, he saw a burst of red. Next moment, there was a pain in his shoulder, and Leo was gone, running. Paul hadn't even realised he'd been hit.  
Then someone was there, by him, saying his name. No one had called him by his name for a long, long time. A guy wearing a raincoat, and a hat, with an unlit cigarette between his lips. The guy took hold of his arms, looking into his eyes.   
"Paul....Paul, it's okay. You're gonna be alright. Just hang on in there"  
Sam spoke to someone behind him in the darkness, and Paul caught the words "ambulance" "blanket" and "hacksaw". Hacksaw, he thought dazedly. Next moment a blanket was being wrapped around him, and he heard the sound of metal being cut through. The guy with the hat was talking to him, while also trying to staunch the flow of blood from his shoulder. Talking..what was he saying? Paul couldn't concentrate. It felt like everything was slipping away from him, though he was aware of being able to move and feel his arms. Next moment he felt himself gathered up, blanket and all. He let his head fall onto someone's shoulder, someone said his name again "Hold on, Paul" then everything ceased to be.

 

.


	4. Chapter four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic doesn't want to lie down...here's another chapter and I think there will be more. All fiction, remember!

Someone was holding his hand. Someone was squeezing his fingers. It was very comforting. He felt as if his eyes were glued shut. His whole body felt heavy.  
"Paul, can you hear me? Can you squeeze my hand if you can hear me?"  
Yes, he could hear them, but he was so, so tired.  
"He's not responding" the voice told someone.  
I am, I am, he thought through a warm dark haze.  
Movement. Travelling fast, a rocking motion. There were voices. He could feel hands on him.  
"Hold on, Paul. Just hang on in there"  
The movement stopped. He felt himself lifted, and movement began again, this time bumpy, jerky. There were voices and lights.....oh God, lots of bright lights even though his eyes were shut. Behind closed lids he could see red and yellow patterns. And a smell, strong in his nostrils..disinfectant, that was it. His mum always had that smell lingering around her. His mum. Home. How he wanted home.  
There were hands on him again, and voices...different voices. Snatches of conversation, words floating "..extremely dehydrated..." ...."..collarbone...blood group?..does anyone know his blood group?"  
I know, thought Paul. I know my blood group. Why do they want to know? Tired. So very tired.  
A hand slipped between his legs, and he tensed.  
"It's okay, Paul, not going to hurt you. I just need to check.". No, no, leave me..go away..tired.  
"...severe tearing..he'll need stitches..". "..have to be fed through an i.v....no...nothing solid..not through him.."..."at least a week, possibly longer.." .."..who?.."  
"...is he on duty?"  
Paul groaned, and tried to roll onto his side. Strong hands caught him, turning him back.  
"Steady on, young man, you'll end up on the floor" a voice chuckled. He felt the comfort of a blanket placed over him, and he clutched feebly at the edges, drawing comfort. I just wanna go home. Please. Why couldn't they hear what he was thinking..It would be so much easier. Everything was an effort...an effort. He held on tightly to the blanket and tried to roll again. A hand held him still.  
"Determined to get onto his side, this one"  
"Okay...do you have the supplies? Let's get him into the room and..oh, yes...thanks...Joe, can you sedate him? Thanks...then we'll" Paul felt something cold on his arm, then a sting.." Sarah..The stitches need.."   
Everything faded around him, and an embracing wooziness took its place. Paul let himself go.

*******************

It was almost 3.00 in the morning. In the stillness, the phone ringing was strident. All were asleep, exhausted, worried, living from minute to minute. They were mentally tuned to the phone. Bad news, good news, no news. Mal stumbled from his room, picking up the receiver, as Brian opened his bedroom door. A phone call in the middle of the night. Hearts began to race.  
"Hullo" mumbled Mal.  
"Hello, Mal, is that you?" Sam Roper's voice.  
John's bedroom door opened too, and John was there eyes wide, hair sticking in all directions.   
"Who is it?"  
"Who's on the phone?"  
Questions. Concern. Bad news..oh shit...  
"Mal, it's Sam..we've got Paul.."  
"P..Paul?"   
Brian stepped forward, his heart hammering. He didn't want this phone call, but he felt responsible. For Paul. For John, George and Ringo. For bringing them here. And now..  
He took the phone off Mal, steeling himself for the worst news.  
"Hello, this Brian. Who is that?" God, if only he felt as confident as he sounded. He heard a sigh of relief the other end of the phone.  
"Brian, it's Sam. We've got Paul" Relief such as Brian had never known welled up in him. He could hardly speak.  
"What is it? What's going on? Is everything okay?" John was at his shoulder, then George and Ringo exited their room, wide eyed, questioning. "Paul?"  
"Everything..is he?."  
The worst. Everyone was thinking the worst, hoping for the best.  
"Where is he?" Brian tried to ignore the fact John was breathing over his shoulder, trying to hear every word.  
"Lincoln Memorial Hospital downtown."   
"How" "When" "Who"  
Neil was there too, and everyone was talking at once. Brian waved his hand to shut them up. John was jiggling up and down, his eyes piercing, so many questions.  
"Is he okay"   
Brian felt the slight hesitation.  
"All things considering, yes. He's unconscious at the moment, they've sedated him, but you can come down." Brian heard the smile in Sam's voice "They said just don't cause a riot"  
"How did you find him?"  
Sam breathed a sigh of relief. Safer ground.  
"A young forensic assistant called Josh Barnett..we owe him one. Tell you all about it when I see you."  
"So, can we come now?"  
Brian could hear the excited whispers going on around him.  
"Yeah, feel free. I'll be tied up with unfinished business, but the staff will see to you. You can park round the back, and the doctor looking after Paul is called Simon Leesom. Right..see you later"

***************

Doctor Leesom found himself facing celebrities he'd only ever seen on the television. He met them as they entered the building, and steered them into a deserted waiting room.  
"Can we see Paul? Can we see him now?"  
John could hardly contain himself. Not until he physically saw Paul could he believe everything was okay. The doctor looked startled. It had been a long night, and he needed to prepare Paul's visitors. He understood Sam Roper had not told them anything.  
"Please, sit down a minute" he indicated the plastic chairs.  
"But..but I wanna see" John was bouncing up and down on his feet. George laid his hand gently on John's arm. It was the sort of gesture Paul would have made, as John couldn't fail to notice.  
"Paul is unconscious at the moment" the doctor rubbed his eyes wearily " We sedated him while we dealt with his injuries..."  
"Injuries?!!" John was on his feet again. He turned accusingly to Brian. "You didn't say he'd been injured!"  
Brian threw his arms in the air "That's because I didn't know, John"  
God, John could be so exasperating at times.  
The doctor's eyes flicked between Brian and John.  
It must have been so difficult for them, a long way from home, the uncertainty. They'd obviously been under a lot of stress. The doctor let out a huge sigh, and sat down with them.  
He rubbed a hand over his head.  
"Does the young man have any family?"  
They looked at one another, startled.  
"Family members, next of kin?" the doctor clarified.  
Brian nodded. "Yes, he has a father and a younger brother back home."   
The doctor hummed. "Under normal circumstances, I should speak to them first. But..' he gave a wan smile at the assembled group ' all things considered..'  
John was up again. "Paul's twenty three...He ain't a child. What's gone on? What injuries?"  
George's hand tugged John back down to the chair.  
Christ, this wasn't going to be easy. Why the fuck did he have to be duty doctor on this particular night!  
"When Paul was brought in, he was found to be seriously dehydrated. We've got him on a drip at the moment. It's equally likely that he hadn't been given any nourishment during his captivity"  
George felt John tense, but he kept the pressure of his fingers on John's arm. The doctor continued.  
"He has some external injuries...facial bruising, and bruises on his ribs. They will heal" the doctor turned and found John's piercing amber eyes watching his lips for every word.  
"During the rescue attempt, a shotgun was fired. Fortunately it only grazed Paul's collarbone, the bullet didn't enter. He lost quite a lot of blood, but we have given him a transfusion."  
"And he's gonna be okay?'  
Doctor Leesom turned to the speaker. The guy with the big blue eyes..Ringo..The name came to him.  
"I'm sure, eventually, he'll be fine" the doctor assured.  
John stood up, impatient.  
"Can we see him now?'  
Doctor Leesom gave a grimace.  
"I'm afraid I've not quite finished"  
He could feel all their eyes on him. He fixed his somewhere over their heads, looking at the No Smoking notice on the opposite wall. The bombshell.  
"I'm afraid he was raped" he said it quietly, into a stunned silence. They all looked at him, disbelieving.  
"No" it was an anguished whisper from John.  
"It's ..difficult news to tell anyone. He's badly torn, we've had to do stitches, and we're going to need to keep him in for at least a week or so. He needs feeding intravenously until he heals." They all looked at him, stunned.  
"I'm sorry" the doctor said quietly.

****************

It was now mid-morning and John had not moved from Paul's bedside. Between his hands he held one of Paul's, playing with the long slender fingers. The other hand had an i.v. inserted. It was quiet in the room, and John had his chair drawn up so close to the bed that he could hear Paul's gentle breathing. His eyes were glued to Paul's face, unblinking. He scanned the bruises, black on pale cheeks, the dark, matted hair, the four days growth of stubble. Paul's long black lashes fluttered occasionally, as if he was dreaming. Inside, John felt pain. Pain and anguish. He should have been there to protect Paul. Christ, Paul was far too gentle, too trusting. Why? Why did this happen to him? He only hoped to God they'd caught the bastards that had done this. As he watched, Paul murmured slightly, turning, his lashes flickered, his eyes opened, and he saw John.  
A bewildered smile touched Paul's face.  
"John? Johnny, what? ..What are you?...."  
John saw the exact moment when reality hit.  
Paul's eyes went wide, he struggled to sit up, his breath started to be drawn in panicked gasps "..oh God..John..  
John..I.." He was hyperventilating. From nowhere a nurse appeared, the next moment a needle sank deep into Paul's arm, and he lurched back onto his pillows.  
The nurse looked sympathetically at John.  
"I'm sorry" she said quietly "I don't think he's ready to face life just yet"  
John sat there, stunned.  
No, he thought, I don't think any of us are.


	5. Chapter five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Going home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..still going on. This fic doesn't want to lie down yet...dunno who's writing it...

Brian walked into the waiting room, nodding at George, Ringo and Mal who were sitting there, daily papers spread across their knees, cigarettes in hand. This small, secluded room at the end of a nondescript corridor had been their home for over ten days now.  
They glanced up at him, boredom reflected in their eyes, in their very posture.  
"Hi, Bri" Ringo greeted him.  
"Okay, lads?" Brian rubbed his hands together.  
"Well, good news. Just spoken to Doctor Leesom and he says Paul will be well enough to go home in a couple of days. So I can go ahead and organise our departure."  
He glanced round. There was no reaction from them. George gave his paper a vicious snap as he rearranged it. Ringo just chewed his lip nervously. Mal met Brian's eyes, and looked away again.  
"Well, don't all applaud at once" Brian snapped.  
"What d'you expect us to say, Bri? Paul's not coping. We're not taking home the same person we came with."  
George lowered his head and muttered into his paper   
"Can't see him being any better if we go home"  
Brian sighed. George had said what everyone was thinking, but not wanting to admit. He sighed again.  
"Where's John?"  
"Where d'you think" "With Paul"  
The two voices answered simultaneously. Brian glanced at Mal, who gave him a sympathetic grimace.  
"Well, I'll..go tell them the good news". The spring had gone from Brian's step. He felt he was dragging a ball and chain behind him as he made his way to Paul's room. Before he entered, he glanced through the viewing window. He could see John and Paul's heads bent together, as if deep in conversation. They probably weren't, though. Paul hadn't even opened up to John. But if anyone could extract the odd word, it would be Lennon.  
Brian tapped politely, and entered. Two pairs of eyes swivelled in his direction. Christ, John looked tired. Tired and drained. He'd been trying so hard to draw Paul out.  
"Oh, hi, Bri. Everything okay?"  
Brian smiled, and glanced at Paul, who'd been watching him. As their eyes made contact, Paul immediately dropped his.  
"Oh. Yes. Good, good." He rubbed his hands together. "How are you feeling, Paul?"  
Paul's eyes flickered nervously from Brian to John back to Brian then away. He looked somewhere into the corner of his room as he mumbled "Okay"  
Well, thought Brian, relieved, at least he's answered me.  
He could almost feel John cheering him on, pushing for more. He turned to John, smiled, then spoke to them both.  
"So..good news. The doctor says you can be discharged in a couple of days." Not a flicker of emotion crossed Paul's face.   
"Hey, that's brilliant. Fantastic. Going home, Paulie. That'll be good won't it?"  
Brian had never, in his whole relationship with John, seen him in cheerleading mode before. He would not have believed he had it in him.  
Paul murmured something quietly about reporters. Brian didn't catch it, but John did.  
"There won't be reporters. No press. Brian'll see to that, won't you Bri?"  
John looked expectantly at Brian, urging him silently to agree.  
"Oh, no. No press. I'll make sure of that. It'll be good to get home, won't it?"  
But Brian was talking to the top of Paul's dark head, and no response came.

********************

It had been a difficult few days for all of them. The memories were too much for Paul to cope with, and he'd withdrawn into himself. The others had felt a mixture of emotions. Hurt, anger, frustration. The original surge of joy at Paul's rescue had changed to plummet them into despair. Paul had closed himself off, wouldn't talk, wouldn't even attempt to communicate, wouldn't even look at them. The doctor tried to explain he'd need time, understanding, maybe even therapy. Therapy?? They'd looked at one another in disbelief.  
The kidnappers had all been caught and charged with abduction and grievous bodily harm, but no charge was made for rape because Paul would not disclose who had done it. A connection was made from the kidnappers to the cleaner they'd met on the first day at the hotel, which was how the items of clothing had mysteriously appeared, but of the black haired girl there was no sign. There was a sense of unfinished business, not all ends tied up, and one very valued member of their group seemed to be damaged beyond repair.

*****************

True to his word, Brian arranged for them to return home by a private plane he'd booked. It was done under greatest secrecy, as was the message to their families that they were returning to a small airport in the southwest of England, all to avoid press. On the day of their departure, John had stayed overnight at the hospital so he could be on hand to help Paul prepare for the flight home. John found he was doing all the talking. Paul was like a mechanical doll, washing, shaving, dressing, all without enthusiasm. The bruises had faded to a yellow tinge. To all appearances he was returned to normal, but his dark eyes were blank. John garnered patience he had not known he possessed.  
Paul, having slipped on his coat, turned to face John. They were identically dressed, as the group so often were, in dark suits with white shirts, topped with black coats. John gave Paul an encouraging smile, as his eyes swept across him swiftly, checking.  
"Okay, mate? Let's get home, eh?" John turned to go, picking up Paul's suitcase. Paul's voice halted him.  
"John..please?" John turned. Paul looked panicked, colour draining from his face. John heard Paul's breath start to speed up. "John, I..I..I can't.."  
Next moment John had his arms around him. Paul hid his face in John's shoulder.  
"You'll be fine" John encouraged. He could hear Paul mumbling something into his shoulder, words that sounded like "can't" and "don't want to". John hid a small smile, and patted Paul's back.  
"Youre going home..It'll be great, you'll see. Come on, Macca, we've got a plane to catch"

********************

In the private lounge at the airport, they waited. As if they'd all caught Paul's mood, they were anxious, chain smoking, not talking, other than random staccato bursts of odd words. Paul sat next to John, his one leg bouncing up and down nervously. "You're sure there's no press?" he asked John quietly.  
"No press" John confirmed.  
Paul hummed. He seemed to become interested in the toes of his black boots.  
"What if..."  
"No 'ifs' Paul, everything's gonna be fine"  
Paul hummed again.  
"Okay, you can board" came a voice.   
Paul leapt, startled, to his feet. John followed. In a tight bunch they headed out onto the tarmac, staying close. From round the corner of the building came the cry 'Beatles' and the sound of running feet. Paul looked up, startled, as press photographers and reporters rounded the corner, shouting questions and trying to take photos as they came. John slung his arm around Paul, and dragged him bodily in the direction of the plane.  
"C'Mon, Macca,run!"

"You said no press" John accused breathlessly as Brian entered the plane.  
"John..I don't know how they knew"  
"Fucking hell"John threw himself down in the seat next to Paul, and glanced across. Paul was breathing heavily from the sudden dash. John lowered his voice.  
"You okay?"  
Paul just nodded, endlessly playing with his fingers.  
Shit, thought John, this is gonna be a long flight.

*****************

They dozed. They drank. Ringo and Mal got a random game of cards going. As the plane made its way over the Atlantic, a collective sigh of relief was felt. Maybe, just maybe, John thought, this is what Paul needs.  
Maybe this is what we all need. Home. He glanced across at Paul next to him, who'd leaned back, eyes closed. Christ, we didn't know all this was gonna happen. Never would have gone. The tours..just not worth it. Hope it all works out......

"John...John?" It was Paul's voice that woke him.  
"We're landing."  
"Shit..must have slept. And I'm supposed to be looking after you."  
A slight flush of colour suffused Paul's face.  
"I don't need looking after" he muttered quietly. John kicked himself.  
"Y'know what I mean" he amended.

This time, there were no press. Just the families waiting in a private lounge.  
"Daddy, daddy"  
John's heart leapt as a little figure came hurtling straight at him, Cynthia close behind. And Mimi, casting concerned glances at Paul.  
"Jules, look at you. You've grown!"  
George's mum and dad were there, and his brother Peter..Oh, and Patti, jumping up and down, waving and smiling. There was Ringo's mum too, wearing her best hat, looking like the queen mum, wreathed in smiles, and Maureen, hugging Ringo shyly in front of everyone. Paul's dad and his brother Michael, unsure of how they'd find Paul, aware of the fact that all the families there had one eye on them. And Jane...Paul was almost knocked off his feet by a red-haired girl that threw herself at him.  
"Paul..Oh, Paul, I've missed you, are you okay? I heard ..God, it must have been awful. I thought...." she chattered on and on, the plans she'd made for that night, the next night, that week. It didn't occur to Jane that Paul hadn't answered. Paul's dad moved in behind Jane, eyes anxiously scanning his older son's face. He, unlike Jane, had been told the full extent of Paul's injuries. Behind him was an equally anxious Mike.  
"Hello, son, how are you?"  
Jane's voice was going on and on. Suddenly Paul felt as if everything was closing in on him. He drew a deep breath, and another. He looked around anxiously for John. As if by magic, their eyes connected. John saw the panic, and he quickly put Jules down, and whispered something to Cynthia. In a flash, he was at Paul's side.  
"Okay?'  
Paul threw him a silent plea, and John saw him crumple. He pulled him into his arms. Jane stopped, bewildered. Mr. McCartney cleared his throat, embarassed at his son's breakdown, not knowing where to put himself. Emotion wasn't something northern men dealt with well. Paul felt all eyes on him, and he burrowed deeper into John's shoulder, trying to hide from curious eyes.  
"Paul?"  
The voice was barely there, a quiet whisper.  
"I just wanna go home"


	6. Chapter six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The return home..John and Paul..a pact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intend to make this the last chapter as otherwise I'm getting into uncharted waters and things I don't feel comfortable writing about...therapy?...I can't do therapy!!  
> However, this story has a habit of leading me on, so I may come back to it at some point. Enjoy.  
> Oh,u remember, all fiction.

John had been home exactly four days and was now, officially, bored. B.O.R.E.D. He had played with Julian as best he possibly could...playing with kids was really Paul's thing...made love to Cynthia, annoyed her by leaving wet towells on the bathroom floor, rung up Ringo and George at least twice to see how they were, tried to write a song, drank tea, drank another cup of tea, before finally slumping down on the sofa. He was missing a certain dark haired fella in his life...someone to fool around with, write songs with, and just generally...be with. He kept picking up the phone and putting it down. Ring him...no, don't, just leave him...Ring him, yeah but what if, ring him...no, I shouldn't ring him..  
The phone rang. John looked at it stupidly. Had he just willed it to do that? Was he imagining it?  
"John, phone" came Cynthia's voice from somewhere in the house.  
"Hello?"  
"Hi..John? Is that John? It's Mike"  
Mike. Paul's brother. Well....next best thing to getting Paul, John mused.  
"Hiya, Mikey, how y'doing?"  
John had fond memories of the younger McCartney trailing round after him and Paul like a lost little puppy when they were teenagers. Just happy to be in their orbit. Mike cut straight to the point.  
"John, it's Paul. I'm really worried. He hasn't got up since we came home. He's just shut himself in his room and won't get up. Dad said to leave him, but.."  
John could almost hear Mike chewing his lip, the same nervous habit Paul had.  
"Mike, has he eaten or anything?"  
"No" poor guy sounded nearly in tears. "I'm really sorry to bother you, John, but I didn't know who else to ring."  
No, John could understand that. And Paul's dad didn't cope with unusual behaviour either. It was a 'roll your sleeves up and get on with it' attitude. John made a quick decision.  
"Mike, listen...throw Paul some clothes into a case, and I'll drive up and get him. Bring him back here for a few days.."  
"John, I didn't mean to bother.."  
"No bother" John cut in. "Truth told, I'm missing the sod anyway. You're quite a drive, but I should be with you in about four hours. That okay?"  
John could hear the relief in Mike's voice.  
"Thanks, John. Appreciate it. Oh..you won't tell Paul or dad I've rung, will you?"  
"Mum's the word, son."

*******************

"Come on, McCartney, stop lossicking around..get yer arse outta this bed"  
Paul peered over the top of his blankets, wide eyed and startled.  
"John? What the fuck?.."  
"What indeed, son. Got the message some lazy sod's not playing ball. Shit, man, you stink. When did you last bath?"  
Paul tried to squirm back down under his blankets.  
"Go 'way, John" he whined. "Just fuck off"  
John's resolve tightened.  
"Right" he exploded. "Just had enough of this. I've driven 300 miles to save your lazy arse, and this is the greeting I get. Up, out, now"  
John threw back the bedclothes to be greeted by the sight of Paul wearing nothing but boxers and t shirt, and a smell of stale sweat hit him. To John, that was far more alarming, given how immaculate Paul normally was. Paul wrestled back his blankets with surprising strength and determination.  
"Just go away. Get the fuck out and leave me!"  
John tugged, and Paul tugged, both equally determined.  
Suddenly, Paul gave in.  
"What d'you want, John?" he asked dejectedly.  
John's heart gave a lurch.  
"I've come to take you back with me for a few days.'  
"Why? Are me dad and Mike fed up of me already?"  
"No, son. I'm bored. I want a play mate. And I thought you..."  
John trailed off, meeting Paul's astute eyes.  
"No, you didn't. I bet Mike rang, didn't he?"  
"What if he did?"  
Paul dropped back down onto his bed, pulling the blankets back over him.  
"Just go away, John" he whispered.  
"Paul" John placed his hand on the Paul-shaped lump, "I am not going away, not without you, get that in your thick head. I'm gonna go run y' a bath, and I want you ready to go in half hour. Understood?"  
Paul merely shrugged, but all John saw of the movement was a shift of the blankets.

Forty minutes later, and John was starting the car, Paul in the passenger seat next to him, suitcase in the boot, a bewildered Jim McCartney and a relieved Mike waving them off from the doorway of the house.  
"Seat belt on, Paul, please" John ordered.  
Paul's eyes flickered over to him. He hadn't registered.  
John indicated the object.  
"Belt on, please. I don't wanna lose you."  
"Dunno why, save everyone a lot of bother".  
He heard Paul's whispered retort over the sound of the engine, but chose to ignore it.  
He halted part way back to London, stopping at a roadside cafe that was mainly the abode of lorry drivers. No one took any notice of them. The menu was limited but substantial. John put a plate of eggs, bacon and beans in front of Paul, and strong tea in a chipped white mug.  
"Eat" he instructed him.  
Paul looked at the food placed in front of him as if it was garbage from the bins. John let out an exasperated sigh.  
"Look, son, you're not doing yourself any favours. When did you last eat? Hmm?"  
Paul raised his eyes to meet John's, and there was such despair in them it nearly broke John's heart. He gentled his approach.  
"Come on, please, for me? Just try?" Tell y'what, I'll share. D'you remember in Hamburg, when we had no money, and we'd get a bowl of cornflakes and a couple of spoons?"  
A faint smile touched Paul's face. John felt a glimmer of hope.  
"Okay..here goes. A mouthful for you " he popped some bacon and beans in Paul's mouth before he could change his mind " and a mouthful for me."  
He didn't care how stupid he looked, if he could just get Paul to eat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay..accidentally posted..so there will be one more chapter!! I had this on my phone and was checking the chapter while on a bus in Manchester and the bus suddenly moved..hey ho!!


	7. Chapter seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And in the end....a suicide attempt...a pact..

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right..so..let's try again. Manchester buses...such a bus jam in Piccadilly Gardens yesterday...was anyone else caught up in it? My thumb must have been over the Post button when the bus suddenly moved. Anyway, I'm going to attempt to tie this up.

John had a glimmer of hope, faint, but there. Each day Paul stayed with them he seemed a bit better, a bit more involved, a bit more talkative. He also gave John a reason to be up in the morning, a mission to accomplish. He towed Paul through his daily life with him. Up, shower, breakfast, take Julian out to play, lunch, songwriting, tea and telly, bathtime for Jules, helping Cyn prepare a meal.....it was the same routine every day. On his own John would have been bored out of his mind, but having Paul, willingly or otherwise, put a different slant on the simplest action.

There had been a couple of wobbly occasions. Two nights running Paul had had nightmares. The first night John shook him awake, and he roused slightly, then drifted easily back into sleep. The following night he was decidedly shaken, and John didn't feel he could leave him. So he did what they'd done so often when they were younger...he simply clambered in with Paul.   
He spooned behind him, snaked an arm around Paul's waist, and pulled the slim figure against him, so they could feel each other's warmth. John felt a slight initial resistance, then Paul relaxed. John could feel Paul's breathing get slower and slower until he was deep asleep. John lay awake for quite a long time, enjoying the feeling of Paul within his hold, until eventually he too slept.

They had George and Ringo, complete with Patti and Mo, around for a meal and a game of cards. John hadn't invited Jane, and Paul never mentioned her.   
George cornered John in the kitchen, eyes serious. He offered John a cigarette, lit it, and asked quietly "How's he doing?"  
John didn't have to ask who the "he" was. He drew deeply on his cigarette, and hummed.  
"I'd like to think he's getting better. I'm dragging him round with me, not giving him thinking time. He's started to eat a bit more, .."John sighed "dunno what to say, really. He's still quiet..doesn't say much. Y'know what Paul's like..he's found a compartment in his head that he's crammed it all into, locked it up, thrown away the key, and labelled it 'Never to be opened'" John shook his head, and tapped the ash off into the sink. "I just want Paul back" he mourned quietly. George patted him sympathetically on the shoulder.

John could have kicked himself. Maybe he'd started to relax too much. Maybe he'd been duped by Paul's behaviour over the last couple of days. John had got up later than usual, discovered Paul's bed was empty, and had wandered down to the kitchen, scratching his head lazily. Cyn, helping Julian with his breakfast, had looked up with a smile. At that moment, John felt a surge of fondness towards her. She'd taken in Paul with never a murmur of complaint, and had quietly been there for whatever John had wanted to do.  
"Okay, luv?" John queried, giving her a peck on the cheek. She looked up, pleasantly surprised.  
"Oh, fine, yes. Tea's in the pot, if you want some."  
John got himself a cup out of the cupboard.  
"Seen Paul?" he asked.  
"Mmm..He was down about half hour ago. Said he was going to get a shower"  
"Oh, right" John poured himself a cup of tea. Then he frowned. "I couldn't hear the shower when I came down" He put his cup back on the saucer.  
"Think I'll just go and check on him"

A few seconds later, John's shriek could be heard all over the house.

John had no reason to be alarmed, but he had a niggling feeling, and an unease in the pit of his stomach. Surely Paul being first up and getting a shower was a good thing? Wasn't it?  
John paused outside the bathroom door. "Paul?"  
He tried the handle. Locked. He listened. Quiet.  
"Paul? Paul, are you okay?"  
He started to panic, hammering on the door.  
"Paul? Open the bloody door! Paul?"  
He threw his whole weight against it, and the flimsy lock gave way. But something prevented the door from opening properly. A body. Shit!! Paul. He pushed, and the body moved with the opening of the door, sliding over the floor.  
John's panicked gaze took in the scene. There was blood...God it was everywhere, a streak across the mirror, over the basin, the wall, the floor. Paul was in a heap on the floor, his right wrist pumping out a steady red stream, his left one nothing but a trickle from a badly attempted cut. John dropped to his knees, gathering up the unconscious figure. He began to shriek, his voice at least one octave higher than normal.  
"Cyn, Cyn, shit, oh Christ, ambulance, Cyn, 999 quick, oh my God the stupid fucker, Cyn, Cyn!!!" The last cry was almost a scream. Cynthia arrived breathless at the bathroom door, eyes wide, stunned.  
"Cyn, 999 quick ..get 'em to hurry..wait" he shouted as she turned "have you got anything..tourni..thingy..something..tie up" John was almost incoherent. Cynthia threw the tea towel at him and ran to the phone. John tried to tie it as tight as possible to prevent the blood loss, all the time muttering, tears streaming down his face.  
"You stupid, stupid cunt, you stupid wanker, what the fuck d'you think you're doing, you stupid, silly idiot" an unending stream of tender abuse. He did the best he could, and gathered the naked body into his arms, scanning Paul's face. He was pale..no, nearly white, lashes fluttering slightly, breath hardly there between parted lips. John ignored the blood that was staining his clothes, he just held Paul tight, his nose buried in the dark hair. Tears were streaming down his face, though he had no idea. "Jesus, Paul, what were you thinking..you stupid idiot"  
Hands were trying to move him off. To take the body.  
"Mr. Lennon, you need to move..we need....'  
Suddenly Paul was no longer in his arms. There was a hole where he had been. John curled into himself, and cried.

*****************

"John? John, can you hear me?" It was Ringo's voice. Everything had been dark. Something had happened. Paul!! Paul, shit. John struggled, and hands held him back. He opened his eyes to see Ringo's concerned blue eyes scanning him.  
"It's okay, you're alright"   
Somewhere he could hear Cynthia sobbing quietly.   
"It's okay, John. You passed out. You're at home"  
No, no. Not me...far more urgent...can't...Paul..  
"Paul?" He could only get out one word. Don't tell me, I don't want to know, have to know, no, don't want to..  
Ringo gave a faint smile.  
"George is with him..he's been taken to the local hospital"  
Joy surged through John.  
"He's alive?"  
"Yes..thanks to you. If you hadn't found him when you did, well.." Ringo shrugged.  
John gritted his teeth. "I'm gonna kill the bastard!!"

*******************

John sat at Paul's bedside. He felt he'd been doing a lot of that, lately. He played absently with the long slender fingers, noting the bandaged wrists, a reminder of what could have been. He looked up to find Paul watching him warily from dark eyes. Paul took a deep breath.  
"I'm sorry" he said.  
John exhaled loudly.  
"Sorry!?! Is that all you can say?"  
Paul chewed his lip nervously.   
John leaned forward until his forehead was resting on Paul's.  
"Paul, I'm only gonna say this once, and you are gonna listen." He eased back, never letting go Paul's eyes, never letting go his hand.  
"Don't you ever dare try anything like that again. I thought I'd lost you. I know it's hard, I understand, I know you think I don't, but I do...so does George and Ringo and every one else that fucking loves you. We want to help. I want to help. You've got to let us in, kid. I never, ever want to face that again, d'you understand?"  
Paul's eyes hadn't left John's face, and he nodded, still nervously biting his lip.  
John smiled, and put a finger on Paul's mouth to stop him doing it.  
"I love you, y'daft bugger, and you'll probably never hear me say that again, but there it is. Seems I can't live without you, so...let's make a pact, eh? If you ever, ever feel like doing something like this again, you talk to me, yeah? No matter what time it is, where I am, how old we are...shit, even if I'm half a world away, you ring me, an' we talk, right?"  
For the first time in weeks, Paul's answering smile was genuine.  
"Shake?"  
"Shake!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So..there you go. Hope you enjoyed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading..comments always appreciated.


End file.
